


Even the Way You Drink Your Coffee

by khlassique



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: AU, College AU, F/M, emily's birthdayyyyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khlassique/pseuds/khlassique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know<br/>you and I<br/>are not about poems or<br/>other sentimental bullshit<br/>but I have to tell you<br/>even the way<br/>you drink your coffee<br/>knocks me the fuck out. —Clementine von Radics </p><p>A Hawkeyes college au fic for Emily's birthday!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even the Way You Drink Your Coffee

Once she found a bar, Kate Bishop wasn’t likely to change. When it was nighttime and she and her friends just wanted to dance and party, she went to a proper _club_ , but the afternoons when all she wanted was a tall drink and a dark booth belonged to Fitz’s. The clientele was older, though she didn’t mind. It was quieter that way.

 

As it turned out, older clientele also meant professors. Fitz’s was near campus, so it shouldn’t have surprised her, but somehow it still did, to see Dr. Rogers stride in with a group. Steve Rogers, historian, who taught Kate’s almost-favorite class, The Propaganda of the American War. It was the consensus among students that he had been _totally hot_ when he was younger, and a quick google search confirmed that, along with stories about his government work, though it was always referred to vaguely. Kate filled in her own blanks, concocted a story about how he was a spy, or a soldier—the tautness of his shoulders and back underneath his blazers suggested that he still worked out. The reality was more likely boring paperwork; it wasn’t like spies just became _professors_. How _boring_.

 

Kate sank into her booth, hoping he wouldn’t see her. She _may_ have skipped class the day before, preferring to stay in bed with Eli. Their schedules conflicted this semester, meaning no leisurely mornings in bed like they normally had, but Kate had become so _sick_ she simply had to lay tangled with her boyfriend to feel better. It didn’t help that Eli was Dr. Roger’s favorite, as it was.

 

She didn’t know many of the students with Dr. Rogers, but it was a large university and her friends weren’t necessarily academic types. America would rather start a fight with Laufeyson than discuss his views on the economy (to be fair, Laufeyson was kind of a dick- actually, he _was_ , no _kind of_ involved). Eli was the exception, but even he was more prone to a weekend marathon of Call of Duty than going to conferences.

 

Dr. Roger’s group was chatting as they walked past her booth, Kate peeking over the top of her book to see. That could have been another professor, in a sharply tailored suit and black hair peppered with gray, but he looked more like a rock star than an academic. A redhead in a soft leather jacket talking to a blond-haired guy was behind them, both younger than Dr Rogers and the other man. The redhead glanced at Kate, indifferent. The blonde followed the redhead’s glance, and by then Kate had her eyes focused squarely on her book.

 

 

Eli took her to dinner one night at a little restaurant that served good food and played good music. Kate mentioned plans for the summer and wanted to know what he was going to do; she wanted to stay in the city and get an internship.

 

“I’m leaving.” Eli’s voice was so steady, and Kate paused.

 

“What?”

 

He repeated, added that he was going to go Arizona, something about his mom and emergencies and finishing school out there. An upbeat song still played in the background, a mockery, and she pushed her food around for something to do with her hands as she looked at him.

 

A week later, and he was gone.

 

 ---

 

Dr. Rogers asked if she would be interested in a research assistant position, “looking up names, filing papers, writing summaries. You’re a good student, Miss Bishop, and though I know you’re only a minor, the research deals with topics also relevant to your major– government, isn’t it? In any case, I would love to have you working for me.”

 

She applied and was accepted; a history PhD student would be working with her as well. If things had gone the way they should have, it could have been Eli in her position, but, as she was constantly reminding herself, he was gone. They had called each other a few times, but there were a lot of miles between her and Arizona.

 

It just wasn’t enough.

 

\--- 

 

Clint Barton was going to drive her _insane_ with his work habits.

 

“Did you know that _Dog Cops_ comes back this week?”

 

“I don’t care about _Dog Cops_ , Clint.”

 

“How can you _not_ care about _Dog Cops_?” He sounded indignant.

 

“Get that summary finished, I need to have this packet ready by tonight.”

 

“Not until you admit you’ll watch _Dog Cops_ and _enjoy it_.”

 

She threw a pencil at his head; he caught it and smirked down at his laptop. The summary and packet were done on time, though.

 

\--- 

 

Kate was texting Billy and walking back home from the subway station when a crashing noise came from the alley next to her.  She paused, the noise coming closer and a man staggering out into the light of the street lamp.

 

“… Barton?”

 

His hands were on his knees, and when he stood- more like wobbled- upright, the blood across his cheek and forehead became visible. He stumbled and she caught him in what could be misconstrued as a hug. Clint’s face pressed into her bare shoulder, breath coming out in a warm rush, and she staggered to accommodate his weight.

 

“Jesus _Christ_ , what did you do to yourself, Barton?”

 

“Little bit… of a fight… Just need to rest a bit.” He made an effort to stand up but had to lean into her again, except this time, at least, he made sure to readjust himself so she could slip an arm under his and support him.

 

“Just a little bit? You look like you smashed your face into a wall. You _need_ to go to a hospital.”

 

“No hospital.”

 

“Face. Wall. Smash.” Kate made it incredibly simple, even for him (did he have a head injury? She had a test in the morning. She didn’t need a head injury on her hands).

 

“Hospital. No.” His tone mocked hers, and she was tempted to shove him to the sidewalk. Cassie was at their apartment; she couldn’t take him there. Did she even have enough band aids to deal with this?

 

“Where’s your house?”

 

“Kings Court. Apartment building... with the red door.” Kate appreciated that his street was close by because they couldn’t get a taxi in this condition and Clint was _heavy_. Button up shirts hid what was admittedly an impressive set of muscles, though the fabric slid over what could have been an undershirt. Kate didn’t want to focus on what was underneath his shirts, under or otherwise. When they got to his door, her breath was coming in short gusts and she clumsily maneuvered through the door after he punched in the code. Cold air hit the sweat on her skin, making her feel like she had shut herself in a freezer.

 

“A walk up? Are you _fucking_...”

 

“Only the second floor. Can’t be choosy when you’ve got student loans.” All Kate could attempt in reply was a heavy sigh before beginning to climb. Clint tried to brace himself on the banister, which helped.

 

The apartment was typically second hand bachelor. Mismatched furniture, a decent entertainment setup, mail spread over the counter. Eli and the boy’s apartment was- _had_ been more pulled together than this, if only because Cassie and Kate were insistent on helping them shop. The memory of Eli on the couch she had picked out, running a hand through her hair as she napped after class, stung. Instead of Eli, she had a thirty year old with a bloody face.

 

Clint collapsed into a kitchen chair, directing her to the first aid kit, which was surprisingly thorough. Kate left it on the table to get a dishtowel, wetting it to help clean up his face. The cuts were shallow enough that he wouldn’t need stitches, but he still flinched as she worked the grit and gravel out of a particularly nasty scrape.

 

“Do you do this often? Get into fights, find someone to drag you home and clean you up?”

 

“Well, normally I have a friend to get into fights with. The buddy system, you know.”

 

“And why wasn’t your buddy there?”

 

“Had to tutor a guy in Russian.”

 

Kate didn’t reply, but made a noise of acknowledgement and kept cleaning. He glanced sideways at her before closing his eyes and letting a little sigh past his lips. A pipe clattered in the walls somewhere, the paper crinkled as she opened the bandage, little noises that filled in the silence. She smoothed the last bandage with her fingers, letting them drift down to trace his jaw, rough with stubble.

 

“All done. Now tell me, really, what did you do to get into a bar fight as bad as this?”

 

“Insulted their mother.”

 

“ _Clint_.” She put an elbow on the table and rested her face on a fist, observing him. There was blood on her shoulder from where he had face planted into it, dried and crunchy. “Tell me the truth.”

 

“Can’t, girly girl. Would have to kill ya.” He chuckled a little bit, as if at his own joke, and tilted his head back. The line of his neck stretched out, vulnerable. Kate found herself wanting to kiss it and suppressed the thought. Eli wasn’t even gone two months and if she was lonely she should go to Tommy, not _Clint_. He was a summer research burden for three more months, nothing more.

 

She licked her lips. “I’ll, uh, go then. You okay to be by yourself?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Ain’t my first time ending up like this.”

 

Kate stood up to go and paused, looking at the slim case leaning up against the couch. “Is that a bow?”

 

“Yeah, why?” He glanced up at her, curious.

 

“Oh, nothing, I just do some archery and don’t know anyone else who does.”

 

“Been doing it since I was a kid.”

 

Oh, what the hell. “Ever go to the range by school?”

 

“Sometimes. Why d’you ask?”

 

“Just bracing myself in case you decide to get into a fight there. May need to start carrying around a first aid kit for you.”

 

Clint laughed again, a low throaty sound. “Maybe you should, girly girl.”

 

\---

 

Kate saw him stretching the next time she went to the range and grinned. Time to see if he was any good.

 

“Hey, Barton!” From the way he looked over, he had been expecting her to stride over. She didn’t know if she liked that or not. “Glad to see you could make it.”

 

“Glad I saw you here.” Clint shook his arms out and went to take out his bow. “Already warmed up?”

 

“Yeah, just finished when I saw you. Want to see how well you actually shoot.”

 

“What, saying I’ve been doing it since I was a kid ain’t enough for you?”

 

“ _Nope_.”

 

“Then it’ll go both ways. Grab your bow and we’ll prove it.”

 

“What’s the winner get?”

 

“The loser makes them coffee in the office for a week.” They shook on it, and Kate got her gear.

 

All of her arrows were either in the bulls eye or that one just on the edge; Clint’s were all dead center, clustered tightly together. Kate watched him as he shot, the way he was so quick and careful and fucking _accurate_. Clint grinned at his target and looked over.

 

“Look, your aim’s good- hell, it’s _great_ \- but you need to stop thinking. Feel it a little more.”

 

“Ok, show me.”

 

He adjusted her position and showed her how to use just the right muscles instead of wasting her energy being tense all over. It was the best afternoon she’d had in a while.

 

\---

 

Kate had gone to eat dinner over at Billy and Teddy’s apartment after work and the range one day, her bow case strapped across her back. It was just cool enough that walking was bearable, so the blocks to her own apartment from the subway station didn’t leave her wanting to die.  For late July, that was practically a miracle.

 

Someone shouted at her to watch out and _run_ , and she barely had time to leap out of the way before a tangle of people came out of a side street and into her path. It was something between a fistfight and a coordinated attack on two of the people in the fray.

 

Except Kate _knew_ those two. Clint wasn’t in his office clothes or even what he wore to the range; it was a black bodysuit with boots and his bow, and the woman next to him wore something similar. The woman was the redhead from that one day at the bar, Kate realized. Why the hell were they in _bodysuits_ and why the hell were they fighting a bunch of mob-looking dudes?

 

Clint saw her standing there and his eyes widened. He shouted something that Kate thought was _run_ as he aimed for another foe, but then he got a fist to the jaw and she, out of instinct or stupidity, felt the need to protect him. She never was one to run from a fight, anyways.

 

It was easy to get her bow in her hands, quiver already haphazardly across her back, and her arrow hit squarely into Clint’s attacker’s shoulder. The man screamed and fell to the ground, and Kate aimed for one who decided to come after her, felling him with an arrow to the thigh.

 

This was _so_ not a bar fight.

 

She quit counting how many arrows she shot, and that she and Clint would shoot at the same guy at once. Eventually the thugs cleared out, one sprinting away into an alley, leaving Kate to stare at the redhead as she pulled out her phone and dialed a number. Clint stepped over the injured men on the ground to reach Kate.

 

“You’ve got to go, Kate.”

 

“Clint, what the _hell-_ ”

 

“Katie, trust me, you have to go. Go back home, take an Advil, and go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Will you at least explain this?”

 

He titled his head slightly, considering. “Maybe. May not be my place. Just don’t tell anyone about this, promise me, and don’t ask me again.”

 

Kate’s jaw tensed and relaxed again before she answered, and she wanted to stick an arrow in him just to get a proper answer. “Promise.” With that, she turned and walked off, ducking around a corner when she was far enough away and peeking around the edge. Black vans had pulled up, the cliché inconspicuous models, and the felled bodies were loaded into the backs. Nobody was dead– at least, Kate didn’t think so, she hadn’t hit any vital organs, but many of them weren’t moving.

 

What the _fuck_.

 

\--- 

 

Kate and Clint started meeting up at the range regularly the following week, and he taught her how to be even better until her accuracy was just as good as his. By the time they were only halfway through one day, their shirts were darkened with sweat. 

 

“Heard you have a meeting with Dr. Rogers this afternoon, Katie Kate.” He had taken to calling her that after the incident, and she didn’t particularly mind.

 

“What’s it to you, Barton?”

 

“May have to be there, is all.”

 

He clasped his hands and stretched him arms behind him, and Kate only noticed she was staring when his eye caught hers. She flushed and went back to sorting through her arrows.

 

“He’s not going to tell me to get out, is he? Only a minor and all that.” She didn’t push her luck and see if it was about that night; she hadn’t asked. Kate Bishop kept her damn promises.

 

“No, he’s not. Steve’s not like that, and he thinks you’re good to have around. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Oh- well, that’s comforting, I guess.” She plucked an arrow from her quiver and shot it so it hit the bulls eye, the entire thing over so quickly that Clint smiled. She grinned back, errant strands of hair stuck to her cheek.

 

\---

 

“Miss Bishop, do you know what S.H.I.E.L.D. stands for?”

 

Kate sat straight in her chair, hands folded politely in her lap. The meeting about her progress had gone well so far, and she was curious about Dr. Rogers’ change in topic and if it boded well for an explanation like Clint had said.

 

“Yes, sir, it’s mentioned in some of the news articles you’ve had me read. Stands for Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division. They dealt with Nazi espionage during the second World War.”

 

“They’ve since changed it to stand for Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate, but, yes, they dealt with Nazis. It’s slightly more complicated than that, but that information’s still classified. Technically.”

 

“Technically?” Kate hesitated, wondering if she was going to receive a history lesson or an actual explanation.

 

“You’ve studied classical mythology, I assume?” She nodded, silent. “So you know about the hydra. Cut off one head, and two more take its place.”

 

Another nod, because Kate didn’t want to derail the conversation with the question: _but what does this have to do with an American special division?_ It was answered when Dr. Rogers continued.

 

“There is an organization that calls itself HYDRA, which operates by the ‘cut one off and two more appear’ principle. Very established and very hard to trace, but we do know they were involved with Nazi arms development, and are now classified as an independent terrorist organization. S.H.I.E.L.D. has become multinational in the attempt to cauterize the stumps, so to speak, and which is why I asked you to this meeting. Do you have any plans post-graduation, Miss Bishop?”

 

“Not at the moment, sir.” Her dad had offered her a desk job at his company, but being stuck working for her father for the rest of her life didn’t seem particularly appealing. “Are you going to tell me that S.H.I.E.L.D. would want to recruit me?” _Because that’s ridiculous, but kind of cool._

 

The thought must have shown on her face in some way because Dr. Rogers smiled softly at her. “ Yes. We know it seems… unexpected, but someone whose opinion I trust also recommended you to me.”

 

Before Kate could ask who, the door behind her opened and a familiar voice greeted Dr. Rogers with a casual, “Hey, Steve. Sorry for being late.”

 

Clint grabbed the back of a chair with the hand not occupied with a cup of coffee and pulled it to the side of the desk, facing Kate. While she wasn’t completely surprised, it was still a little jarring to have confirmation.

 

“Were you _spying_ on me, Clint?” There was annoyance in her voice; it would be ridiculous if she got this position just so she could be _vetted_. Her arms crossed.

 

“Course not. Noticing your talent just kind of… happened. You weren’t supposed to see me that night with the Tracksuits, but you were impressively proactive.”

 

“You were getting you’re a-” In a last second act of preservation, she cut herself off. “-butt kicked.”

 

“It was a 15 to 1 fight, you try getting out without at least a little bit of damage.”

 

“You mean walking away unscratched like I di-”

 

“Stop, both of you,” Dr. Rogers chided.

 

Kate uncrossed her arms and bit back the rest of her words.

 

“So what you’re saying, sir, is that you want me to join this secret government organization and help fight bad guys.”

 

“Simplified, but yes, that’s the idea. You would have to work your way to a field agent, but S.H.I.E.L.D. handles each new recruit on an individual basis.”

 

She pressed her lips together for only a second before asking where she should sign.

 

\--- 

 

Clint stepped closer to her, the distance between them becoming so small Kate felt like the air had abandoned the room. There was a scar on his jaw, curving down the line of the bone, and she stared at it instead of into his eyes. The sharp smell of his cologne hit her nose, something cheap.

 

“You could’ve just said you hated working with me, Katie Kate.”

 

It’s a moment before Kate can open her mouth to reply, her throat thick. “I don’t hate working with you.” A moment, and her honesty won out. “Except you are the laziest fucking PhD student I’ve ever met.”

 

He laughs at that, and she can see the way his mouth curls up when he laughs, the way the scar stretches as he smiles. “Yeah, considering this isn’t my _real_ job.”

           

 _That_ was most ridiculous thing about this whole situation.

 

“You wrote _ain’t_ in a paper _as well as_ trying to get yourself killed.” The scar stretches again, and she glances up.

 

Her stomach drops and she thinks, _god damn it_ , because his mouth is still laughing and his eyes are laughing and there’s tenseness in her stomach that she knows too well.

 

She registered how dilated his pupils are before standing up on her toes and moving to press her lips to his. He met her halfway, and the weight of his body pressing against her forces a staggering step backwards, the back of her knees crashing into a desk. A strangled breath went past her lips when he spread his legs to better pin her to the offending desk, which she awkwardly half sat on. The cheap cotton of his dress shirt barely hid the heat of his body from her hands, and she grabbed it in handfuls to pull it out from where it was messily tucked in. God, he was a _mess_ , had always been a mess, but at the moment he was the best damn kisser she’d ever experienced.

 

Her voice was a little breathless as she said, “Maybe we should move this to a not classroom-” and he lifted her up, her arms hastily clasping around his neck so she wouldn’t fall backwards. Instead of leaving, he braced her against the wall and used a hand to lock the door.

 

Well, then.

 

Being pinned against a wall meant it was easier to grind her hips into his, and he growled appreciatively into her neck. She managed to slide down so she was standing again, dragging his mouth back to hers. Now that his hands weren’t busy holding her up, they were running through her hair, down her torso. She smiled into the kiss, shifting so her knee was between his legs.

 

He nipped her ear, hand slipping down just under the waist of her skirt-

 

It wasn't until Cassie texted her ( _Please come back to the apartment cooking disaster!!!!!!!!!_ ) that they straightened their clothing and slipped out of the classroom. It wasn't until Kate got back to her apartment that she could truly catch her breath.

 

\--- 

 

Clint was late. He usually texted Kate, or just showed back up at his apartment because she would be there taking care of the dog anyways. The dog’s name was Lucky, or Arrow, or just Dog when Clint had been insisting he wasn’t _keeping it_ , he just rescued it from abuse and got it proper medical treatment-

 

 _“Katie_ , _stop with that look. Katie. I’m not keeping him!”_

_Kate had smiled, motioning to the large bag of dog food in the kitchen._  
  


 _“That’s a big bag of dog food, Hawkeye. You’re going to be keeping the dog.” Clint’s codename was in a packet of papers she had gotten as part of her training._ Hawkeye _. She liked it._

Since her induction as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, she had done mostly paperwork and it made her want to crawl out of her skin sometimes. Clint still trained her, and they had done some very small, local missions together. Kate trusted Clint to have her back, especially after a particularly rough spot on her first time out; afterwards, he had massaged her shoulders until she felt like a puddle of goo, and they watched _Dog Cops_ together. Somewhere between angrily making out in a classroom and him acquiring a dog, they had fallen into a familiarity that was hard to leave. He was her S.H.I.E.L.D. mentor, or trainer, or something.

 

They hadn’t hooked up again after the classroom- Clint had officially become her mentor soon after, which also officially meant they couldn’t be in a relationship. Kate was willing to overlook that little footnote, but Clint was adamant. That hadn’t stopped them from falling into the intimacies of people who were sleeping together, like the massages or ordering pizza for each other. She bought him the kind of coffee he liked, and he kept a small pint of creamer for her.

 

 _“You take your coffee black?”_ _She leaned against the counter, mug cradled in her hands._

_“Yeah, like my heart.” It was a weak reply, and admittedly awful, but she laughed anyway and bumped him with her hip on the way to the couch._

“You’re two hours late, Hawkeye.” Lucky wagged his tail and trotted up to Clint, who knelt down to ruffle the dog’s fur. There was a new bandage over his nose, something he was only without a few days before replacing it from another scrape.

 

“Katie, it happens. Stop sounding like I skipped town.”

 

“One day I’m going to have to save your sorry ass again.” She had done it before, getting them out of tough spots. Local didn’t always mean easy.

 

“I look forward to it,” Clint said, grinning. “Speaking of saving my sorry ass, think you could check my nose real quick?”

 

She pushed herself off the couch, padding over and leaning over him as he stayed kneeling. His nose wasn’t broken, just badly bruised. Without thinking, she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss against it, as if her lips could heal. Clint took in a breath.

 

Her voice low, she said, “If I have to save you again, you might as well start calling me Hawkeye instead.”

 

Clint’s eyes gazed into hers, serious, and Kate could see that he was probably rethinking his stance on following mentor protocol. “I could probably share, Hawkeye.”


End file.
